In This Diary
by Whyntir
Summary: Peacewood Groves was Gilbert's whole life until his mother remarries and he gains a family he never wanted. After a tragedy rocks the already shaky foundation, he is taken from everything he knew, including his best friend. Years later, the more things change, the more they stay the same, tearing Gilbert apart between his past and recent demons. Discontinued for future rewrite
1. Prologue

The summer breeze travelled lazily through the trees. Birds chirped and the world seemed to glow. Everything was so vibrant, the leaves were the deepest shade of emerald and the grass was tall and soft, falling over itself, swaying gently like the branches of the willow tree. Butterflies fluttered from one flower to another at the woods' fringe and around the slow-moving river that weaved past the vegetation. Small silver fish darted through the clear water along side fat tadpoles. They grouped in schools, clustered close nervously, moving more towards the edge to hide in the roots of the plants growing overhead on the shore. The water seemed to calm, a lone tadpole ventured out, wriggling through the water, the long worm-like tail propelling it forward. All appeared normal.

A sudden loud splash.

"I caught one!"

"Whoa, really? Lemme see Eliza!"

Two children stood in the shallow waters, the one holding the panicking tadpole as it thrashed around had fallow hair that fell just past the shoulders, pulled back in a low-seated ponytail. Bright green eyes shining as she grinned, holding her hands out to show her enthusiastic companion. "I wanna hold it!" the boy shouted, holding pale hands out to pass off the baby frog. The breeze sighed by once more, tugging at his white hair as it did so.

"No way, I caught this one, go find your own if you want one," Eliza smirked smugly, pulling the pollywog back towards her body.

His cheeks puffed angrily, "I said I jus' wanna hold it Eliza!" Lunging at the other child, grappling for her hands, the two wrestled for dominance in the river, the turmoil kicking up waves in the normally calm waters. He pulled at her fingers, which she fought to keep closed around the fish. Trying to make a distance between them, Eliza started retreating, only to have Gilbert rush after her, only a little too rough.

"Stop it, Gil!" It was too late, the two fell over in the water; and the tadpole, taking note of its chance to escape, seized it and bolted into the roots at the water's edge.

Scrambling upright, the two gasped for air, their clothes and hair drenched thoroughly in cold water. Eliza glared daggers at her friend, "Look! It got away because of you!"

"If you had just given it to me, then it never would have gotten away!" the albino shot back.

Glaring at each other a moment longer, they relaxed, picking themselves up and crawling back onto land, laughing softly, "Don't think I'll forget about this Gilbo," she warned him, sitting in the grass where their shoes and socks were left against a tree, along with their backpacks, "You owe me another pollywog!"

"It was just a stupid tadpole, you can catch another one," he grumbled, peeling off his T-shirt. It was his new one too, and his mother was not going to be happy about it. He actually liked the design as well, a white body with black capped sleeves. At least this time he didn't go in with his sneakers on. His feet stank for weeks afterwards.

He hung the clothing up on a tree branch, his friend following suit, being only four neither took much note of the other's nude body as they changed into their spare clothing. "Yeah, well, it took a long time to catch that one," she sniffed, pulling on her bright green tank top and another pair of jean shorts before plopping back down on the grass, pulling her hair out of the pony tail to wring it dry.

Out of his red back pack, Gilbert pulled out a towel his mother had forced him to take with him and quickly rubbed it over his damp hair to dry it out quicker before passing it along. Now dressed in a black T-shirt and khaki shorts, he ignored her and looked out over the town. From atop the plateau, he could look into the valley below and watch as everyone else went about their lives, oblivious to his eyes. Sitting beside her, they forgot about the argument over the fish and sat content at watching their home down below.

"I see Mr. Tino and Mr. Sve," Eliza chirped, pointing down to Market Street as the two worked in their bakery. The small blonde Finnish man waved as a customer left while his partner restocked the front window with everything from fruit-filled bread to cakes and pies, all hand-made.

"I see Feliciano and Lovino down in the park," Gilbert grinned, watching older Vargas brother playing in the sandbox with another child while the other was being pushed on the swing by their father. "I think that's Antonio with Lovi."

Eliza suddenly jumped to her feet, "And there's Alfred and Matthew! Come on, they have their football!" Stuffing their half-dry clothing into their bags, not caring for the wrinkles, or the smell for that matter, they waded across the river to the other side before running barefoot down the hill back into the town.

* * *

><p>Peacewood Grove was a quiet town, two hours out from the nearest city, and a very tight-knit community. Only seven miles wide, and everyone living close together in one neighbourhood, no one saw the need to own cars, preferring to ride their bikes or walk, which added to the cleanliness of the air and ensured the safety of the children that roamed the streets. Boasting a population of just a little over two hundred occupants, the majority being elderly or young ones, the small country town was not even a crumb on the map, and often entirely overlooked. On Grace Avenue, all the way down the road, was the only church; entirely white with high glass windows and a tall steeple, it rang every Sunday, bidding all to come to prayer. Connected to it was the cemetery, and in the far back was the old willow tree with it's bleach-white trunk as it stooped over pitifully.<p>

More towards the centre of the town were the Elderly Homes, and across the street was the park with it's many slides and swings, along with other toys, that attracted children from all over to come and play, not to mention the wide field free of trees and hills to play games like tag or football. Then there was Market Street, where all the shops and diners were located, including the only Pub owned by the Kirklands. There was no such thing as a department store, and every shop was privately owned by some family or another. Finally, just a fifteen minute walk away, was the school, hosting classes through every grade. It was a small, slow-going town, with few and easy-going people, and to many it was the entire world.


	2. Chapter One

_The sky was dark, clouds smothering the heavenly lights in a thick blanket. Without even a gust of wind, the storm would have to weep itself out, pitifully left to sit. There was not violent thunder claps, or brilliant jolts of lightning, only the virgin tears that sorrow could muster. The dark room was filled with the monotonous pitter-patter of rain as he sat up in bed. Alone, only the gentle glow of the nightlight to cast shadows over his pale face. Across the house, in the kitchen, he could hear angry voices rising. They grappled back and forth, one defensive, the other in a blind, painful rage. He could hear his papa's boots pounded over the wood finishing and pass his room, out in the kitchen his mother slammed an empty pot into the sink, crying and angry._

_Waiting a few minutes before throwing off the blankets, he crept out to the hall, his bare feet muffled on the cold floor. Only the soft orange glow of the small, square light above the sink illuminated his mother, looking out the window at the opaque nothingness. She looked so sad, so hurt. Running forward, he hugged around her knees from behind, startling her out of her depression. Looking up with large, round eyes, she couldn't scold him for being awake so late._

_Turning and hugging him close to her waist, stroking the snowy locks, she willed her tears away, "Mommy will be alright Gilbert; let's go to bed."_

* * *

><p>A sudden jolt as the car ran over a dip in the old road shocked him awake, out of that depressing dream. Water splashed in quarter-sized droplets against the windshield before the wipers whisked them away. Trees had begun lining the left side of the two-lane road they drove down on, in front of the moving van that followed them to their new abode. Looking out the window closest to him, sitting behind the passenger seat, he watched the meadows zip by, the tall grasses bending under the sheets of rain.<p>

"We're almost there. Did you enjoy your nap?" the driver teased dryly, glancing into the back seats through the rear view mirror. The black _Porsche_ a blot on the emerald landscape, the sky a monotone gray as sheets poured from the heavens.

Red eyes flashed to the same mirror, glaring darkly, though saying nothing. Now that he was awake, the atmosphere inside the vehicle was tense, even stifling. The wry comment, though only meant in jest, had successfully ramped up the levels of animosity emanated by the albino in the back. Of course he would have fallen asleep, he hadn't been able to for the past two weeks since . . . since the incident. And now he was being driven as far out of the way from civilization as his step-father could manage when he should be back there! Resentful and alone, he returned his eyes back out the window.

In the front passenger seat, the taller teen glanced back at him from the side mirror. This move was supposed to make him happy. It was supposed to get their foot in and finally build a connection. Every thing they tried always seemed to backfire; and Gilbert, clouded in a haze of distrust, could never see their attempts as anything more than self-serving ploys.

Suddenly, the road dipped descending down into the valley. The car stalled a moment, overlooking the landscape, both front passengers watching the albino with earnest to see his response. The small houses huddle together, weathering the storm in warm comfort. There were few people touring the streets, bright-coloured umbrellas pinpointing their location. The shops were still there. The bakery and gelato stores brightly lit, there was even light in the pub. The old willow tree to the east wept over the graves of the cemetery. A little sign to the left welcomed them, the wood maintained and the words vibrant as ever; as though everything had been waiting for him all this time.

_Welcome to Peacewood Grove._

"It's raining pretty hard out there," a mover huffed, his jacket dotted with crystalline beads. The furniture was almost all inside, wrapped securely in plastic. Luckily the job was just about over.

Alaric, imposing in his tall stature and intimidating aura, gazed out the window to the streets, a small river forming on the asphalt. It was strange for him as well, being in the same house they left six years ago. He could just never bring himself to sell it, mostly for Gilbert's sake. And now here they were, back to where it started. He could gain an idea of what his step-son had felt when he was suddenly moved to the city. This was Gilbert's home, and he felt like an intruding stranger here. Even when he had Sophie, he never felt welcomed in this place; but this was all for her son.

Running a hand through his long blonde hair with a heavy sigh, he could only imagine how Gilbert would fare now. After what happened in the city . . . Even he didn't know all the details. Only Gilbert could know, and he refused to tell anyone else.

"Ludwig, Gilbert," he called, pulling himself out of thought in order for the real work to begin. He was met with no answer. "Ludwig? Gilbert?" Unusual for both of them to ignore his calls. Then the blonde appeared from down the hall, looking frustrated and sour. "Gilbert?"

"He left out the back. I don't know where he's off to," the younger muttered, arms crossed as he glared at the wall. The two boys could have been twins if not for the eight-month difference in their births. What irritated Ludwig more than anything was how he was looked down upon, ignored, and spurned by his step-brother.

His father sighed again, a sound he hated hearing; that tired, depressing sound. "Then we'll just have to get started on our own. Don't be sore towards him, he hasn't belonged anywhere for six years. Let him find himself again."

Ludwig uncrossed his arms and set to help his father move the furniture into place, but he couldn't let go of his resentment. Everything they did was for Gilbert, every thought and every action was to help Gilbert, and all he ever did was throw it back in their faces. Ludwig had taken back seat for the most prominent years of his life, being overshadowed by the ungrateful boy. "He's such a spoiled brat."

"I know Ludwig, I know."

Standing on the top of the hill, the river overflowing on the bank from the heavy downpour, he gazed intently to the treeline across the way. The old birch was still there, thicker, taller. The "branches" now showing to be distinct trunks all connected at their base, jutting out at odd angles. The little silver fish chased each other, enjoying the rain while river frogs croaked carols from the bank. He watched a few of the green and brown speckled frogs dip into the dancing water. The surface was never still, alive with ripples and jumping droplets.

It all felt like a dream. A part of him felt like picking up the way he had left it, but so many things changed over the years that he couldn't go back. The divorce, the second marriage, the funeral, the city. Especially the city. He was not that innocent child anymore, he was almost an adult, two more years and he'd be eighteen; and ignoring the past decade would not make it go away.

But it was a chance to start over.

The clouds suddenly opened up, a torrent of rain cascading down on his head. Exclaiming in dismay, Gilbert threw his hands over his head, looking up at the dark clouds with a timid smile. Taking the cue from nature, he ran down the hillside back into town, it hadn't all gone, but part of the weight that had been crushing him all these years lifted, even just a little.

Running down the now-empty streets, the albino ducked under the overhang by the door of the gelato shop. The trademark green, white, and red umbrella cover over the doors keeping him dry as he looked up and down the deserted streets. Out of all the things he thought he would have felt at coming home, nervous was not one of them. Now, just a few inches from fully returning to his old life, he faltered. What if he was not needed here anymore? What if there was no place for him anymore? He had been gone so long, wouldn't that spot have been filled already?

_'Stop over-thinking it,'_ he scolded himself, shaking his head to clear it from such anxious thoughts, spraying off coat of water in the process. He had nothing more to lose, even his dreams had died a long time ago.

She sighed, balancing her cheekbone on the heel of her hand as she stood behind the counter. The shop was slow, virtually empty because of the downpour. Her coworker moved away from the window, sucking on his lower lip, "I guess no one else will be coming today, how depressing."

"That's not true Feli," she smiled, green eyes aglow, "the clouds will all clear up by this evening, the only reason we're so sluggish is because of the rain, once it's over, we'll be back up and bustling."

The Italian watched her a moment with large amber eyes before smiling and shrugging it off in his usual manner, "I guess you're right. I'm just a little nervous is all."

"It's you're first time running the shop without your dad, Feli, I understand," she smirked, "Come on, let's go in the back and kill some time. We'll be able to hear the bell if some fool comes in during this drencher." Slinging her arm around his shoulders, ignoring the four-inch height difference as she guided him to the lounge behind the shop reserved for employees.

She couldn't blame the brunette though, his father had asked her specifically to watch him and make sure the shop ran smoothly. She believed it was to help stifle Feliciano's responsibility anxieties, though he was dead-set that it was because his father didn't think he could manage the workload. Even though it was just for a week while Mr. Vargas visited an old friend who had fallen ill in the city. On her end, she had to tell her other two employers that she had to take a leave, of course they were happy to oblige.

They had hardly reached the back when the door suddenly opened. She looked back, brow furrowed, "What idiot was out there?"

"Veh, do you want me to get it?"

"No, it's fine," she smiled, "You're really tense, and we don't want another incident like the other day. You settle down and relax."

He looked put out, trying to hide a sour pout, but in the end he conceded, settling down in a plush chair in front of the small television. She made sure he wasn't too hurt by her comment before hurrying out to the shop, "Vargas Gelato, how may I help you . . .?"

For six years he always saw that same little girl, the mid-length brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in shorts and a tank top with worn-out sneakers. Now he looked at her in a completely new light. No longer this fun, carefree tomboy, rough around the edges and tough as any other boy three times her size, but now there was something . . . beautiful. Long fallow hair that tapered off into loose, flowing curls at the small of her back, decorated with a small flower-clip; a kerchief rested on her head to keep it out of the food she serve. She had matured in figure as well, though he couldn't bring himself to comment much on it without feeling strange. Still, those eyes were the same. He could see the fire behind the light green irises.

"Hey," he muttered, rather lamely, his anxieties rising as she stood solid, staring at him as though he were a ghost, "Missed me?"

She walked up to him fairly slow, until they were an arms length apart, "My god, is that really you?" she whispered, holding her hand up to his cheek, feeling the chilled flesh, flicking the damp hair. "Gilbert."

"Hey Eliza," he grinned.

_Smack_!

He staggered back, hand to his cheek in shock as he stared at her, blinking owlishly before furrowing his brows, "What the hell was that for!?"

"_That_, was for not keeping in touch all these years asshole!"

"I couldn't!"

"Why not!?"

"I . . . just . . ."

"Ha! See, you just didn't, dumbass! We all thought you died!"

"I had a lot going on, it was the last thing on my mind!"

"You mean it never crossed that blank space your brain should be."

They glared each other down for a few seconds, but while she said such things, even he couldn't feel the anger behind them. Breaking into laughter, he rubbed the forming bruise on his cheek where her palm had impacted him, "It's great to be home."

"Elizabeta?" Feliciano called timidly, peeking around a corner, "Are you yelling at Eugen again? . . . Gilbert!?" He suddenly rushed out form behind the counter and tackled the German in a hug, "Gilbert! It's really you! Everyone is going to be so thrilled."

Chuckling, Gilbert touched his cheek once more as Elizabeta watched them cheekily, "As long as they didn't miss me as much as Eliza did, I may stay in one piece."

"Veh~ Would you like anything? It's free! I'll give you a cone right away!" Feliciano ran back, talking a mile-a-minute as he grabbed a waffle cone and started scooping at the strawberry gelato. It had always been his favourite.

Sighing with a short chuckle, his hands stuffing into the pockets of his drenched hoody, he looked out the window where the rain had stopped, the sky lightening to a more welcoming shade of gray as they began to disperse.

"What is it?" Eliza asked, smirking at him while leaning on a table, trying to hide her joy at seeing her best friend again. She could have hugged him, kissed him even, but she was too good to throw herself at any guy like that.

"Just thinking how time changed nothing around here. It gives me a good type of Nostalgia."

"Welcome home you idiot."


	3. Chapter Two

_Outside, the sun shone brightly; children ran through the streets, played ball in the park, and stormed the Gelato shop with sweaty coins clutched tightly in chubby hands. Outside, the butterflies fluttered from one pastel wildflower to the other; bees buzzed and birds sang in beautiful choruses. Outside, the world was alive, every piece where it was meant to be. Like a puzzle, each element fit exactly where it belonged. To look out the window, it was a perfect day._

_Inside, the curtains were drawn; the silence smothering as it echoed out every corner of the empty house. The seconds inched by, each methodical snap of the gears twisting the narrow hand around the clock face rang out; the only proof he wasn't deaf. A little boy sat at the small dining table, blankly staring straight ahead as his feet swung in time like a metronome, almost hypnotic in fashion. What little sunshine that slipped between the crack in the drapes illuminated the lonely silhouette, white hair catching the meagre rays to form a halo about his head._

_On the table in front of him, a picture frame leered back. A man, woman, and child grinned at the camera. The man and woman held each other in loving familiarity, sitting on a picnic blanket; the boy who shared his porcelain hair and ruby eyes tantalizing him. Mirth in those irises that did not belong to him taunted his misery. He could hear mocking laughter which only grew louder between blinks, crescendoing into a roar. The pendulum swing of his legs halted, limp feet swaying lifelessly, eyes glued straight ahead in a sightless gaze. A loud clatter and the sound of glass breaking on the hard floor. Crystal daggers littered the wooden planks as he leapt from the chair, staring at the half-broken portrait, regarding it with cold loathing. A small, trainer-clad foot hung threateningly over the smiling faces._

_Lies._

_A sharp crack echoed in the hollow home as the shoe came down._

* * *

><p>The ceiling above him was familiar for once as drowsy eyes opened. The usual feelings of dread he had become accustomed to over the past six years was absent, but nor was it all well. He wasn't going to jump out of bed and run to the kitchen where his mother would prepare a warm breakfast like she had done so long ago. There was no smell of pancakes in the air, and the small wood bed had been replaced with a larger, metal frame, making the already cramped quarters even more claustrophobic. Despite all this, a smile graced pale lips; a ghostly arm falling over fluttering lids as he sank further into the pillow. He finally felt ease come over a weary body, the tense muscles relaxing and weighing him down into the mattress.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Angry red and blue lights flashed behind his eyelids in the foreground of the looming ambulance. The faceless masses blinding him with the random starbursts of cameras. His hands were clammy, sticky; palms mirroring the colour of his irises in the flickering glare. The long shadow of a figure cast ominously at his feet, slowly drifting away.<em>

_Come back!_

* * *

><p>Jolting upright, the sun had not even risen, the pre-dawn hour before the first rays of light reached the earth glowed dull gray. The clouds from the day before were cleared overnight, a promise of a beautiful day a sharp contrast to the cold sweat beading on his ashen skin. That was all the reminder he needed, the message blaring silently in his ears. All of this was an illusion, nothing would ever be right again.<p>

Happiness; what a lying sham.

* * *

><p>Elizabeta woke early, the sun still climbing in the sky, bathing the heavens the deepest shade of blue as brilliant yellow rays danced over the horizon. Accustomed to the spectacle, she paid no mind to the natural phenomena. She sauntered down the street, a piece of toast in her mouth as she nibbled on the crust, holding her meal with her lips as her hands preoccupied themselves with patting herself down for some object she believed to have lost. She had no qualms with walking in the very centre of the road in her white camisole and army green cotton overalls, digging in her deep pockets and pulling out a small silver key to open the Gelato shop.<p>

In the tranquil morning amongst birdsong and the distant croaking of the river frogs, she was not expecting the sudden blare of a horn behind her. Gasping, her breakfast free-falling in the process, her feet a fumbling mess causing her to trip. The key flew from her grasp as she landed on her rear, just over the faded line that ran down the middle of the street; followed not a moment later with a metallic ring as the key landed beside her. Eliza caught a glimpse of the driver with a thermos in hand as they passed the fallen girl, not even sparing her a second glance.

"I know about getting to work," she growled, scowling at the foreign vehicle as it disappeared over the ridge and out the valley, "but I also know _rude_ when I see it." Her good morning officially spoilt, the brunette snatched up the key before pulling herself to her feet, she didn't so much walk as throw a silent tantrum over the incident all the way to the shop. Stabbing the lock and twisting every which way until the deadlatch snapped back, she muttered to herself fuming, "Who was that asshole anyway?"

"Elli!"

She turned her head to the sound of running footsteps farther down the street. A boy, not much taller than herself, garbed in a pristine white dress shirt and onyx slacks sprinted down the pavement. Despite herself, she allowed a smile to grace her lips, leaning against the store door with arms loosely crossed as the boy with strawberry blonde hair doubled over at her feet. "You had the late night shift? What are you doing running like that you idiot?" Elizabeta chuckled.

"I . . . wanted to catch you . . . before . . . I missed you . . . again," he gasped, gripping his knees as he glanced up under side-swept bangs with vivid scarlet irises.

_'Gilbert's eyes are red.'_

She had no idea why that thought crossed her mind. Of course Gilbert had red eyes, he was an albino after all, but seeing him the other day suddenly brought him to the surface. Her brow twitched, perplexity almost making a home on her features only to be replaced with surprise as lips met her's, hands resting gently on her hips. She laughed into the kiss, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck while her fingers played with the soft locks that reached the junction of his neck just above the collar of his emerald satin vest. Pulling away, she quirked a slender eyebrow, "Okay Eugen, what do you have to tell me? I know you're just stalling now."

"Does buttering you up count?" the Romanian grinned a weak, lop-sided smile, showing off his pointed tooth.

She pulled a face between worry and impatience, "If you're buttering me up with kisses, it's gotta be bad." Her arms fell back into the familiar pose of hugging each other, though now her thumbs caressed her upper arms nervously.

"Allistor showed up last night and started drilling Arthur about your absence-."

"Ah hell," she groaned, cutting her boyfriend off as she buried her face in her hands, dreading the next sentence.

Picking at the narrow strip of the black bow tie, he looked away, knowing he was the sacrificial lamb of the pub. _'I had better get a bonus for this,'_ he thought bitterly. "He didn't want to but he didn't have much choice. He had to cut you."

Blunt nails dug into the collar of Eugen's shirt, Forcefully pulling him closer than he wanted to be, Elizabeta's eyes ablaze, "He did _what!?_"

* * *

><p>"<em>You're going home, so why do you look so sad?"<em>

"_Doesn't it feel like I'm abandoning you?"_

_He smiled gently, tilting his head towards the phone, "Not at all."_

"_But . . . this is all my fault."_

"_You think so?"_

"_How could I not?"_

"_Simple," he laughed lightly, shoulders quivering from the action, "by thinking it's not."_

* * *

><p>His reflection in the dark liquid distorted in a grotesque, unrecognisable shape as a hot, salty tear mixed with the bitter coffee. He felt broken, not knowing what he should feel, not knowing how to control these feelings. He swung violently from happy to angry, relaxed to guilty. He hated it, though what <em>It<em> was he had no clue. Was it the city? The town? Maybe it was himself, since he only seemed to cause problems. He was always reminded of that.

With his thumb and forefinger Gilbert rubbed at his puffy eyes; he was tired, tired of just everything. Not even the icy shower he had taken could take away the weariness that weighed on his consciousness. He felt four again, that gaping feeling in his chest after his real father abandoned him and Mom; that feeling ever since Mom died; that feeling as he watched the other behind the bulletproof glass. Why did the void keep widening? Why were they all taken from him? Squeezing his carmine eyes shut against the sting of salt rising behind the lids he took a deep breath.

"Gilbert?" a voice he didn't want to hear broke through his thoughts. Why did he have to get up now? Why did he have to intrude when all the albino wanted was some peace, no reminders of everything that was wrong. Gripping the warm mug, he sighed, ignoring the eyes he felt burrowing into his back, downing the cup in three gulps, the bitterness of the brew clinging to his taste buds uncomfortably. Turning, his head tilted down to stare at the floor as he grazing past the blonde and back down the hall to his room, the only sounds were the faint slapping of the bare soles of his feet against the wood floor followed by the ghostly brush of the gray sweatpants and the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Ludwig scowled at the older teen, blue eyes flashing with rising anger at the sheer impudence. He had tried, nobody could say he hadn't, but even by now a saint would have walked away from the whole mess. Sighing through his nose, the blonde looked around the kitchen, boxes still cluttering the counter tops filled with silverware, the toaster and coffee maker finding their homes on the white quartz while a pan sat on the stove, accompanied by the lingering scent of fried eggs.

Would it make him a heartless bastard to say he hated it here? It was cramped, a far cry from their three story home in the city, forcing them all together. He recalled going days without having to recall his step-brother even existed; now, as the door leading to the street slammed shut, he couldn't even wake up without having to be reminded of everything that was wrong. Taking out a glass from the cardboard crate and pouring a glass of orange juice, he sighed.

* * *

><p><em>"He's lonely Ludwig. Just be nice to him."<em>

* * *

><p>Half-mast blue eyes glowered at the wood floor.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>She's my mommy! You don't have a mommy so you can't have mine!"<em>

* * *

><p>The cup found itself overturned in the sink, the contents lost down the drain as he headed out the door, pausing to pull on his running shoes. Only eight in the morning and already he felt like shit.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>I hate you."<em>

* * *

><p>His brow creased, "It's mutual," he muttered darkly.<p> 


	4. Announcement

Hello, you may have figured I must have died eons ago. No updates in over a year almost, nothing quite substantial. I apologize. Many of my stories are being discontinued for various reasons, mainly because my sense of literary refinement that has developed over time no longer allows me to continue due to their poor quality. Of this list includes:

_A House Divided_

_Loving It_

_Singing Through Bars_

_Song of the Century_

_Bewitched_

_The Cage_

_Not Like You_

_Fallen Heart_

* * *

><p>However, I have not quit. Over this extended period of absence, I have been outlining remakes of certain stories that deserve better andor more.

_Waving Flag_

_Don't Leave Me Here_

_In this Diary_

_One of Nothing_

_Code Geass_

Please be patient, I will soon have a first chapter out for my new work within the next month or two. I sincerely apologize. From now on, I will carefully plan works and not start too many that I cannot finish. Here are some peeks at the new, refined, mature style you will be getting soon.

* * *

><p><em>Dance Among the Loti <em>(Waving Flag Remake)

"Many things fade," he spoke in a near whisper, his voice heavy with weariness, as though he carried some invisible weight, "Youth, beauty, good friends, even memories. Eventually, even the fact that once we existed tapers off to a mere whimsy of a person glancing at a name upon a gravestone, realizing it means nothing to them."

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><p><em>Crimson Tears of Lost Souls <em>(Don't Leave Me Here Remake)

Gunfire rained around me, seeming to bounce off the fog itself; it was thick enough, so I couldn't say I would have been surprised had that really been the case. It came from all sides, from out of the dismal gray, screams and distorted commands drowned out in the orchestra of explosions. Now and then, from the corner of my eye, I could just make out dark figures in the distance before they slipped just out of view. Sweat beaded under the helmet, rolling down my brow and the bridge of my nose, despite the chill of the bog. I made to swipe it as a figure appeared, this one staying. Rolling my shoulders, lifting the rifle that seemed to suddenly gain another twenty pounds, I took aim. Something was very wrong, he walked with a wide stance and appeared unarmed, shuffling right past me, seemingly more interested in something else, not even noting my existence. The second I tightened my hold around the trigger, a cold sense of dread filled me; I knew immediately I had made a terrible mistake.

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><p>I hope you will come and see my new works as they come out and continue supporting me and them. I hope to entertain you on an entirely new level than the works you have seen so far. Thank you.<p> 


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